


Heavy

by Jathis



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Prayer, Pre-Relationship, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:40:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22555723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jathis/pseuds/Jathis
Summary: The curse is broken and Gaston is deadStanley and his siblings deal with the consequences, some better than others
Relationships: LeFou & Stanley (Disney: Beauty and the Beast), LeFou/Stanley (Disney: Beauty and the Beast)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	Heavy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [YodaBen2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YodaBen2/gifts).



The spell was broken. Memories long forgotten came back. Missing loved ones were rediscovered and there was laughter as newly mended families held each other in tight embraces.

Stanley found his sisters when they came stumbling out of the castle, covered in muck and rotten vegetables from the kitchens. Normally the three would have been absolutely mortified at their appearance but the sight of magic kept them quiet. The four found the eldest Laurent child beside his friend Tom, trying in vain to get out of the poorly made dress he had been put in. Stanley ran the palms of his hands over his own beautiful dress, knowing he planned on keeping it. This one had been made just for him and it fit perfectly even with a whole set of clothes underneath.

Dick huffed as he took the powdered wig off, throwing it to the ground. “I suppose there’s going to be no more fighting,” he murmured.

“Oui,” Stanley agreed.

“I was kind of hoping for that anyway,” the former soldier sighed. He shook his head, looking over at the filthy triplets and snickering at the sight. “Well don’t you three paint a pretty picture!” he said.

Elise stomped her foot, opening her mouth to say something when she suddenly paled, looking at something over Dick’s shoulder. “Papa!”

Guillaume Laurent was not a man who was quick to anger. He had a dignified quietness that had drawn his wife to him years ago. He preferred using his hands for the needle and thread, finding that it suited him just as the sword and gun suited others. He had refused to take part in Gaston’s mob, locking the shop and their home down to avoid any destruction.

He was angry today. His face was blank but his posture was stiff, knuckles white as he held the reins tight. He pulled the reins on his horse to come to a stop, glaring down at all five of his children. “Get back home. Now.” His voice did not go higher than a whisper but the five reacted as if their father had shouted at them for the whole world to hear.

Eloise hugged Stanley around his chest as they rode back to the village. In front of them rode Dick, Elise and Eliana sitting with the older brother and his much stronger stallion. Behind them rode their father, ensuring all five went where he had told them to and did not even consider the possibility of going anywhere else.

“...you think maman is upset?” she whispered. Stanley could only shake his head and she pushed a lock of hair behind her little brother’s ear. “You look pretty in that dress,” she said.

“Merci,” Stanley murmured.

“I do not recall giving anyone permission to speak,” Guillaume said. His voice was still low and soft but there was an edge and anger there that only someone who knew him would recognize. It was why the very few altercations he had ever been involved in ended in his victory.

Guillaume Laurent was not just angry today; he was furious.

***

Their mother got up as soon as they stepped into the house, storming towards them like an avenging angel. “There they are! The five killers! The five assassins!” Eliabel Laurent had spent the last few hours in tears and it showed. Her eyes were red and watery and although she had stopped for now, it was clear that she was on the verge of tears again. “Look how brave they look after riding out last night with their torches and weapons! Did you get your fill of blood? Hm? Perhaps you would like to cut your maman down so my blood can be added too!”

“Maman…” Dick tried.

“Non! Non, I don’t want to hear anything from any of you!” she shouted. Her voice trembled, thick and choked as she forced herself not to cry. “It was bad enough when my eldest went to serve in the war. That was at least a just cause. You came back to us a hero like everyone else. This...this was not! One man’s vanity and you all went along with it!”

Stanley’s heart sank at her words. He could see the way his mother was trembling and his stomach hurt at the sight. “Maman,” he whispered.

“You tried to murder a  _ prince _ . A  _ prince  _ and his servants!” she continued. Angry tears fell down her cheeks and she pointed at each of her children in turn. “What would you have done if you had succeeded? Hm? Did you even have a plan for that?! Non, you didn’t because none of you were thinking! None of you!”

Guillaume placed a comforting hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Easy, cher,” he whispered.

“How can I?! Do they not realize what could have happened?!” She looked at her children, forcing herself to talk through her tears. “What if the prince wanted revenge? What if he decided that Madame Guillotine was thirsty from being left unused for so long? You five would be dead! Dead and labeled traitors! I would be the mother of five traitors who tried to kill a prince! No one would give you a proper Christian burial!”

She lost her fight then, sobbing into her husband’s chest at the very idea of her children facing execution. He held her close, resting his chin on top of her head. Wordlessly he looked at the five, narrowing his eyes just so in silent command.

Stanley went to his room on shaking legs. Neither he nor any of his siblings said anything as they went, the house filled with their mother’s sobbing. His fingers shook as he worked on removing his dress, wincing when he heard another loud sob from his mother. His own eyes burned and he was shedding hot tears by the time he was out of the dress to reveal the clothes he had worn to the castle.

He winced as he looked down at the sword strapped to his side. He had been so sure and ready to use it, to defend Lefou’s words and Gaston’s honor. Now all he did was feel shame as he unbuckled the belt, putting the blade away.

His mother’s cries came down on Stanley’s shoulders like the lash his parents had  _ never _ used on any of their children. She had only ever wanted the best for her five children and tried to raise them properly.

Stanley winced, pressing his hands to his temples. He was the reason his mother was crying. This was all his fault. 

He was a bad son. 

The thought made his legs give out from under him and he hit his knees hard on the floor, bowing his head as he shut his eyes tight in a vain attempt to drown out the sound. His breathing became shorter, the weight of his guilt pressing down on his chest and making it harder for him.

He was a bad son.

A choking sob escaped his lips. He clasped his shaking hands together, pressing them against his forehead as he lowered his head. He didn’t dare touch his rosary. He was too dirty to touch it.

He was a bad son.

***

_ Madame Guillotine was drinking her fill that afternoon. Her blade dripped with blood and the platform under her had to be cleaned to avoid anyone slipping in the gore. _

_ Stanley was the youngest Laurent. They made him the last one to get his kiss from Madame that day. He had seen them take his brother and his sisters up the steps. Their headless bodies lay in a heap beside the platform, waiting to be dumped in a random hole somewhere together without ceremony. _

_ They grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up with the steps without a word. He stepped in a small puddle of blood. He wondered whose it was. One of his sisters? His brother? _

_ He could hear his mother shrieking for her babies. They had taken four from her, could they not leave her one? Could she not have one child left to hold and love? Was she to be punished too? She was no longer of the age to have children. She would have nothing. _

_ He was a bad son. _

***

“Papa! Papa, Stanley’s hands! His hands are..!”

Stanley was lost in his anxieties and negative thoughts piling up inside of his head when his father came running into his room, his eyes wide in fear. He was snapped back to reality when his father grabbed him by the wrists, pulling his hands apart. “Papa?”

“Stanley, what did you do?” Guillaume asked.

He blinked, not understanding what his father was talking about. “Papa, I…” Stanley gasped as his hands started to feel like they were burning and he finally looked at what had scared his father and made Eliana scream.

The backs of his hands had been torn open. Blood fell freely from the wounds, staining his clothes and the floor. He could see his own blood and skin trapped under his dull fingernails. “...oh…” he whispered.

Guillaume carefully pulled his youngest onto their feet. He kept a firm hold on his wrists, refusing to let his hands get close to each other again. He looked to the doorway where the triplets stood in fear. “Go to your rooms,” he said, his voice having lost all of his previous anger. He pulled Stanley out of his room and towards the kitchen.

“Sit,” he commanded. Numbly Stanley sat down and Guillaume set to work, warming up water and collecting clean bandages and a poultice his wife had bought after the last time Stanley had suffered an attack of this kind. He mentally willed his hands not to shake.

Stanley watched as a bowl of warm water was set down in front of him. “Papa…”

“Hush now. Give me your hands.” He took his son’s hands and dipped them into the water, watching the way his blood turned it red almost immediately. He shook his head. He was going to have to replace the water and do this again to make sure he had cleaned the wounds.

The two were silent after that. Guillaume washed his son’s hands in warm water, replacing it whenever it became too bloody. Once this was finished he spread a good amount of the poultice on them before starting to wrap them with bandages. 

Stanley sat with his head bowed, unable to look his father in the eyes. He didn’t cry out when the poultice made his wounds burn and he said nothing as his father cleaned under his nails. He didn’t trust himself to be able to speak without crying. He put his hands in his lap when his father had finished, keeping his head bowed.

Guillaume reached out, placing a finger under his last child’s chin to tilt his head up. “Look at me,” he said, his voice back to its usual gentle tone. He ran his thumb under Stanley’s eyes, wiping away the tears that remained. “Stanley, why did you do this to yourself? Every time you pray you do this.”

“Je suis un mauvais fils,” Stanley whispered.

“Your maman and I are very upset about what happened, oui. That does not make you a bad son. It means you made a very serious mistake and must learn from it.”

“But…”

“I know you have these...worries in your head. You’ve always had them since you were a small boy. They pile up inside of your head and then…” Guillaume nodded at Stanley’s hands. “But you must not listen to them.”

“I made maman cry.”

“Your sisters make your maman cry every other day with how they chase the wrong kinds of men around. Your brother made her cry while he was away fighting in the war. I have also made your maman cry. It is not done intentionally but it happens. That does not make you a bad son.

“Almost everyone in Villeneuve took part in this...mob. It’s not just you or your brother and sisters. Everyone is guilty in this. When the memories of the prince came back...the kind of man he  _ was _ . Your maman was terrified of losing you all. And so was I.”

“You were?”

Guillaume smiled sadly, nodding his head. “Of course. You’re our children. We will always worry about the choices you make.” He checked the bandages, nodding as he saw only a small bit of blood bleeding through the material. “I sent your maman out to see what was happening. We will not tell her about this.” He brought Stanley’s hands to his lips, kissing the backs and knuckles. “Please, count the rosary if you must for your actions but no more of this. Enough blood was almost spilled last night.”

He swallowed, nodding when he found that his voice was failing him. His father pulled him into his arms and he buried his face in the older man’s chest, fresh tears soaking his shirt.

“You’re not a bad person. You made a very serious mistake. We still love you,” Guillaume murmured into Stanley’s hair.

***

“You’re bleeding through your bandages.”

Stanley blinked, pulled from his meditative state. He had been tasked with repairing some of the clothes from the castle and was sat at his work desk.

Lefou looked at him worriedly. He sat down beside him, taking his hands and undoing the bandages. “Here, I’ll clean it up. You don’t want to get it infected before the royal wedding, do you?” 

He said nothing, cheeks burning as he looked at Lefou. It was clear that Gaston’s former friend/servant had not shaved his upper lip in a few days, the rest of his face as clean shaven as usual. Perhaps he was growing a mustache or something?

He thought Lefou would look rather nice with one.


End file.
